


it's a work thing

by isoldewas



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, I fixed it, episode tag: s02e12 Jeff, i mean- that car scene™, my bi heart is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 09:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isoldewas/pseuds/isoldewas
Summary: Rio should really get it under control. Her, get her under control.





	it's a work thing

**Author's Note:**

> why are they both so pretty

Lego is all about bricks. A block, another, again, again, more. It’s all about foundation, he keeps telling his son but he doesn’t listen yet. It’s not important yet. When it all crumbles down it’s not that big of a loss.

Now FBI closing in, that’s a bit more in need of handling right. Rio parks near her house.

Beth is far from handling it right, what with her neatly organized paper trail, an extensive history of messages and calls and no doubt scrapbooks or some shit. An occasional mood board. It's like— She's careful, but it's more dangerous than helpful. She doesn’t know how loud it all screams: _come on in, guys._

She opens her front door, searching for his car.

She’s got her crimes wrapped up and categorized in folders with labels and post-its. Wrapped up in gift paper with a big blue bow on it. And she’ll probably ask Turner _do you want freshly baked cookies_ or some shit when they go raiding her kitchen.

Rio should really get it under control. Her, get her under control.

She opens the door and slumps onto the front seat, her eyes set angrily on him. Nineteen voicemails and she’s still got things to say: he sees it in the twitch of her hand, the restless, frustrated pattern. Any minute now she’s going to settle on new words to voice her complaints like he’s here to listen. Like he’s got the time— like he cares. Like he’d better.

Rio cuts her off before she gets to speak.

Her jaw tightens at his dismissal, ready to fight him on this too, so he puts his hand on her leg and she stills. Beth stops fucking breathing.

He moves his hand up, index finger brushing the inside of her thigh and going straight to the button of her jeans. She tenses up immediately, stares at his hand. Rio licks his lips.

She sucks in a breath as he unzips her pants. Rio leans in, the angle of it very familiar to him. He knows exactly what to do.

She’s wet.

She pushes her hips up to allow better access, so— pliant. What would the neighbours think.

He likes watching her like this: she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Needy, panting, she catches herself from doubling over. Eyes shut, biting her lower lip, a flash of teeth.

He lowers his eyes to his hand and when he looks at her again, there’s been a change. Like a switch. Eyes still closed, her face is relaxed now. The furrow in her brow is gone, replaced by this look that's almost— hungry. In control.

His mouth falls open. He can’t take his eyes off her.

Beth just straight up went somewhere: detached from his hand and the car and the hell of a day she must’ve had, and he wants to snap her back into it. Rio curls a finger inside of her and she gasps. And it lasts for a moment, loud and clear and hides how he gasped too.

He’s glad, he doesn’t want her to know. How she’s in charge and he notices but he lets her. How much he likes this. Beth makes all the calls in the world right now.

And he just wants to not be trapped in a car. To have more space, to go down to his knees and go down on her for real, with everything he’s got: to make her see they can be mutually beneficial. Wants to make her want. To make her needy again.

His fingers are still working her at an angle, a bit repetitive. Just work. This is work. This is how you handle her. This is what you—

Her fingers close around his wrist. That’s some stage three bullshit. First pliant, then not even there. And now: like she knows better, like, how dare he take charge.

And her other hand is in his lap. He’s hard, through his jeans she has to know.

So what if she knows, he snaps at himself. Why is it important she not know he wants her too, that this is not just— Oh. Not just work.

He can’t keep it in anymore, it slips through his traitorous teeth. “Elisabeth.” He doesn't mean the way he says it: needy and terrified. It's not him.

Her eyes fly open. She looks straight ahead for a moment and then she looks at him.

And she laughs.

(He’s never wanted her more.)


End file.
